Late
by Frannie3
Summary: Betty Suarez is never late for work, but a simple case of sleep deprivation may change the course of her relationship with Daniel Meade and perhaps her life in general. Can being late be a good thing?
1. Late to Work

The streets of Manhattan were littered with people of all different shapes and sizes, many were wearing the craziest of colors; some were even acting a bit crazy. Then again it was difficult to tell who was talking into a tiny Bluetooth headset and who was simply talking to themselves. Betty Suarez quickly realized she was the latter, talking aloud while briskly brushing past the citizens of her crowded city, mentally checking off items on her "to-do list" one by one.

She had finished her assignment for Y.E.T.I., as proven by the manila envelope that contained her proposal tucked neatly inside her oversized denim patchwork bag. She had also finished her treatment, a small, nearly insignificant article on a new hot vintage couture shop in So-ho that she had reviewed. Betty was sure the piece would never see the pages of Mode, but she was grateful Daniel Meade kept passing assignments her way. A part of her wondered if he did so to ensure she would not get bored with her job and leave him, but secretly Betty knew she could never do that. At least not for anything less than perfect and a really, really big raise.

The thought made Betty smile as she stopped by the bagel vendor outside the offices of Meade Publications and picked up a lightly toasted, onion bagel with a "dollop" of cream cheese for her very particular boss.

The elevators leading up to the Mode floor of the large building were nearly as crowded as the streets below. Betty felt her small frame smash to the back of the car, which was nothing unusual, and she sucked in her breath to tuck her tummy in and refrain from inhaling more designer knock-off perfume. Even after three years as Daniel Meade's assistant, it still amazed Betty the lengths to which some of the women around her went to get noticed. She wore hand-me-downs and her mother's old blouses, kept her unruly, thick hair wild and free, and never shied away from flashing her bright, brace clad smile and Daniel still noticed her. Sometimes perfume and short skirts and cleavage were not all they claimed to be.

Just as Betty released her hold on her breath the elevator doors opened and she burst through the cluster of people, finding herself face to face with Amanda. She was clad in a short navy blue skirt with a matching cleavage baring top. Betty inhaled as she past, wondering what perfume Amanda wore, but decided against giving her nose another assault and quickly turned away.

"Good morning Amanda," Betty called over her shoulder as she rushed to her own desk.

"Says who?" Amanda called back. Obviously someone was not having such a great day, and it was only 9:00am.

Usually Betty was in the office before nine, sitting at her desk before Daniel was even in the building, but the dual writing assignments had left her sleep deprived and she had missed her alarm. That sent off a chain of events, namely Betty missing the bus, then the subway, and enabling her to beat most of the foot traffic that had really caused her delay. Out of breath and sweating a little behind her bangs, Betty tossed her bag onto her chair and rushed into Daniel's office, bagel in hand.

"Good morning Daniel," Betty said cheerfully, her smile strained behind her heavy breathing.

"Calm down Betty," Daniel told her. "You've only been late…." His voice trailed off as he tried to recall the last time his assistant had been late. Perhaps she hadn't. He was right to let this time slide.

"Twice," Betty told him. "I've only been late twice. Well, then now. So three times. Only three times."

Daniel smiled. She was just so honest. Too honest.

"Only three times?" Daniel asked mockingly. "I guess I don't have to fire you then."

Betty ignored his joke, although she did appreciate how he trusted her, how he treated her like more than an assistant. "You have a meeting a ten, circulation department wants to run over some points about the lack of distribution in the outer burrows. Then there's a creative consulting meeting with Wilhelmina and you need to pick the cover by the end of business today. The final shots are in the file on your desk. You have to narrow it down."

As Daniel casually opened the file and began to look at the photos of the beautiful blond model who would be gracing Mode's next cover, he asked, "And?"

"And what?" Betty replied putting the bagel down before him. "Your coffee?"

"No Betty. The article. Did you do it?"

"Of course! It's in my bag. Let me get it."

As she turned on her heels and hurried out of the office Betty could hear Daniel call, "And I will take that coffee!"

Pacing the space between her desk and the glass partition behind it Betty constantly glanced toward Daniel's office, watching him read her piece again and again. He had to be. The article was not that long. What was he looking for, she wondered. What could he possibly be thinking?

This was not the first time she had worn the treads of her shoes down in that very spot. Daniel had read her work before, he knew her writing style, yet he still wanted more. And he still told her he could not print it. It was exhilarating to get the job, the opportunity from someone like Daniel Meade, even if he was her friend. Yet, it was also heartbreaking when he told her "no". Sometimes Betty thought she would never get used to the rejection, but she knew she had to if she wanted to survive beyond being an assistant.

Over the years her relationship with Daniel had grown from a professional one to one of friendship and trust and respect. It was no longer one sided. Together they made a unit, they were the core of each other's lives, they were an almost unstoppable team. How could she be his assistant forever?

Daniel's waving arm shook Betty out of her thoughts and sent her hurrying back into his office.

"It's good," Daniel blurted out. "Really, really good."

"The topic was different, more…."

"You," Daniel finished the thought for her. "Vintage clothes, vintage style, that's definitely more you."

Betty smiled sheepishly as Daniel looked her up and down, visually taking in her brown and orange floral pattern dress.

"Can you make it longer?"

Betty looked down at her dress, wondering if it was too short.

"The article?" Daniel reiterated. "Can you make the article longer?"

"Um, yeah. Yes. I think so."

"Good," Daniel said as he handed it back to her. "I need about four hundred more words."

Betty looked confused as she reached over his desk to take back her piece. What was happening? Did he actually like it? Was it Mode-worthy?

"I need it by 4:00pm," Daniel told her as he got up and buttoned his dark blazer.

Betty only nodded and watched him walk toward his office door in search of a circulation meeting.

"Betty?"

"Yeah?" she asked, her eyes wide, her face pale.

"I'm running it," he told her before striding out.

All Betty could do was squeal.

By four she had finished the article, in fact she had it done by noon, but held off on giving it to Daniel. She was afraid it would appear too eager. He read it, approved it, and just like that it was sent to be edited, then placed within the graphic design department, photos and gloss were added, and then it was slipped inside The Book. Betty could barely contain her excitement. The thing hadn't even been published yet and she was already seeing stars.

The Book was the Holy Grail and she was Indian Jones, or an adorable girl from Queens version. She had just provided the ending the audience was dying to see.

"Big plans tonight?" Daniel asked as Betty and he made their way to the elevator bank.

"Christina and I are going to celebrate," Betty said proudly. "It'll be nice to have something good to talk about for once. It'll be nice to drink for fun and not for…well and not for the sake of getting drunk."

"That does sound nice," Daniel told her. "Have one for me ok?"

"Sure thing," she responded as her cell phone began vibrating inside her bag.

The elevator took them down as Betty read a text message from Christina. After flipping her phone closed she sighed heavily.

"What?"

"No drinks. She's not feeling well and already went home," Betty said sadly.

"We could…." Daniel began, but stopped himself.

Betty placed her bag on the ground and slung her coat over her frame. She buttoned and zipped and clasped until she was snuggly inside the fabric.

"You know winter's almost over right?"

"You forget, I don't live in the city anymore. The way back to Queens is long and cold and potentially dangerous," Betty said, her voice high and happy. "This way I'm warm and safe."

"Ah, I see. A bullet proof vest made of polyester and batting," he joked.

"Laugh all you want, but this coat was my mother's and it saved her from a mugging once," Betty explained.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I guess the guy couldn't find her pockets in all this fabric and eventually gave up."

They both chuckled as the doors slid open and revealed the lobby to them.

"You should go out anyway," Daniel told her as they reached the front of the building. "I mean, you should celebrate no matter what. You deserve it."

"Maybe I'll rent _Working Girl_ and get some Ben and Jerry's."

"That's not celebrating. That's depressing."

Daniel took hold of the fabric of her coat pulling her close to him, as if controlling Betty on a leash. "Come on. I'm taking you out on the town."

"Really? Where?"

Daniel stopped and turned to look at her one more time before responding, "Nowhere where there may be cameramen. Or sketch artists."

"Funny," she said back. "For someone who wears neon pink ties you sure do have a lot to say about my fashion choices."

Daniel laughed again. As he felt his face muscles twitch in joy and excitement he realized just how much laughing and smiling he did when Betty was around. She was good for him, but not for the eventual wrinkles on his forehead. Daniel shook the thought away. Betty Suarez was worth permanent laugh-lines.

After three banana daiquiris and four scotches Betty and Daniel found themselves laughing and smiling a lot. They were hold up in a corner booth of some small, smelly, dark New York City dive bar, the kind of bar no one would dare take pictures of. Still, that's not why Daniel had chosen it. The cold had prompted them to rush inside any bar, anywhere, and they stayed at the first one.

It was dingy and while it looked damp the warmth caused by countless bodies pressed against one another in alcohol-induced hazes made the bar feel as homey as a ski loge on Christmas Eve. In fact, Daniel thought most things would feel warm, perhaps even like home, if Betty was there with him.

Daniel's blazer was crumpled on the seat next to him, his tie undone, the first two buttons of his shirt open. Betty's hair was even more unkempt as if drinking somehow made tangles magically appear. Yet neither of them cared about their appearances. In fact, somehow they each looked better, more relaxed, more at ease, more themselves.

"This place is great!" Betty yelled, despite the fact that Daniel was sitting only three feet away. The music was loud, but somehow Betty seemed louder. "I mean it. So great!"

As the waitress came by to give them each another drink she rolled her eyes at Betty's outburst, yet cast her sights on Daniel. Her shirt was barely buttoned and Daniel couldn't help but notice. He always noticed and Betty always knew when he was looking the other way.

Once the waitress had left Betty shouted, "Subtle Daniel! Why don't you just sign your number to them?!"

Daniel was feeling the effects of the alcohol himself, but he had a longer track record of drinking himself stupid and therefore a higher tolerance. So even though he was one drink ahead of Betty he felt five behind.

"Betty, keep it down a little," he told her.

"You know, you know, you…you always do that. You know?"

"What are you talking about?"

"With women. You always look," Betty said tossing the straw from her daiquiri aside and taking a full gulp of the beverage.

Daniel put his hand up to stop her, but it was too late. Nearly half of it was gone.

"What's wrong with looking?" Daniel asked. "It's better than always touching right? I think you taught me that."

"No! No! No!" she shook her head wildly. "I taught you to…to…what did I teach you?"

"To be better," Daniel said slowly, silently. "You Betty, you taught me to be better than I was."

His eyes bore into hers with an intensity Daniel never knew he was capable of. He had been honest with her so many times before, honest about why they were such good friends, or more accurately, why she was such a good friend to him. Yet, this time it seemed different. Maybe because they were celebrating her achievements, her goals met because of his help. Or maybe it was because she was drunk. He had always found it easiest to talk to women when one or both of them was a little light headed, a little worse for wear.

"What are we doing here again?" she asked swallowing the last bit of her drink and impulsively raising her hand for another.

As the waitress looked over Daniel shook his head from side to side to signal her to stop. Betty had had enough.

"You are about to be a published writer," Daniel reminded her.

"Yes! Yes I am," she said joyously. The waitress returned, having not understood Daniel's head bobs or secretly wanting another chance to flirt with him and gave Betty yet another drink. "I am the newest – _hiccup _– writer at Mode magazine," Betty told her. She then began to climb onto her seat, getting into a squatting position, seemingly uncomfortable and shouted "I write for Mode!"

"She's usually very professional," Daniel assured the waitress before tugging on Betty's dress. She slammed down onto the seat and giggled. "Very, very professional." Then she reached for her drink, but Daniel promptly pulled it away.

"I think you're done," he told her.

Daniel helped Betty squeeze herself into her old, puffy coat and then placed several bills on the table to cover their tab. As he walked from the bar he slipped the waitress his card and winked. Sometimes it was just that easy.

"Thank you Daniel," Betty said once they finally found themselves trying to hail down a cab.

"You'd do it for me," he replied. "In fact you have."

"No, no. Thank you for taking a chance on me." The cold, night air was piercing the pores left exposed on her face. Shivers suddenly overtook some of the alcohol and Betty began to stand taller, prouder. She began to see Daniel for what he was and it made her smile.

"You always do the right thing, the noble thing. You always look out for everyone. I just wanted to do the same for you. I wanted to take care of you for once," he said, his back to her while he scanned the street for a ride.

The words began to sink in and Betty wondered what he meant. Did he give her the job, the assignment, because he believed in her talent or because he liked the way it felt to do something nice for her? Was she really a good writer, deserving of an article in Mode or was she just a friend who was receiving a really big perk?

"I'm not sure I understand," she said.

"I just wanted to do something nice."

"So you let me write an article for a national magazine?"

Daniel turned back to look at her as cabs rolled on past them. He was unsure why the inflection in her voice had changed. He suspected it was not because of the banana daiquiris.

"Well, I…"

"Daniel, writing for Mode, for anyone, is a big deal for me. I wanted to do it on my own."

"There's no shame in letting people help you. Look at me Betty. Would I be Editor-in-Chief if I hadn't been the boss's son?"

"Well that's you! I'm not you!" Betty found herself shouting. She wasn't sure why she was getting so upset. He had just given her career a boost and he had done it with kindness and warmth. Still, somehow the honor didn't feel just right.

"I don't get you Betty. One minute you're happy and laughing and grateful and the next…"

"I'm realizing what this really is," she said sadly.

Before Daniel could stop her Betty was walking down the street toward a subway entrance. For a moment he wondered if he should follow, but Daniel thought it best to let her cool down.

He had to admit to himself that there existed a certain amount of selfishness in his actions. He did like doing nice things for Betty, partly because she deserved the best, but partly because he loved the way she looked at him afterwards. Sometimes the pep talks and lectures and looks of sadness and disappointment were too much, even if they were all well deserved. Sometimes Daniel wanted her to grin wide and jump into his arms. Sometimes he needed to feel like the hero. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure which time this had been. He knew Betty was a terrific writer and the piece was better suited to her style. But had he done it all to see that look, to see those braces sparkle in the light? Had he done it all to hear her say "thank you"?

Daniel turned back to the street and held his hand out once again trying in vain to get a ride back uptown. He was tired of thinking, the scotch made it harder than it needed to be.

"You were gonna let me go?" he heard Betty say from behind him.

Daniel faced her and shot her a mischievous smirk.

"Word of advice Daniel, when a girl is upset you're supposed to console her, tell her you're sorry."

"When have I not done that?" Daniel asked.

"Mmmm now!"

"Ok, before now?"

Betty sighed. "Never, I guess."

"So what makes you think I wouldn't now? I was just letting you walk off all the crazy."

Betty couldn't help but nod in agreement. She was being crazy, as crazy as talking to herself on the street. Perhaps even more so. Daniel was doing a great thing for her, like the countless great things he had done.

"But Betty, there may be a bit of truth to what you're thinking. I mean…."

Betty cut him off. "No. You were right. You are right," she said. "You're ….." Betty paused as her stomach flipped, a look of pain and disgust on her face.

"What?" Daniel asked, instantly concerned.

"Sorry, I think I threw up in my mouth a bit."

Nothing ends a conversation like that, Daniel thought.

"Maybe I should get you home."

As Daniel tucked her and her giant coat in a cab, pushing himself in beside her Betty felt her head rest on his shoulder.

"Thank you Daniel," she said again, before drifting off to sleep.

Sunlight poured into the window and bathed Betty in a warm, orange glow casting highlights across her dark hair. As she awoke from sleep, Betty couldn't help but snort slightly, the remnants of her night of deep snoring. Rubbing her eyes and stretching long and wide, she yawned and then looked up watching the early morning shadows dance on the ceiling. Sitting up slowly, holding her head as it throbbed in pain, Betty scanned the room to ensure it was hers. It was.

The night before was nearly almost all a blur. She could vaguely remember bananas and music and puffiness and yelling. A lot of yelling. She knew instinctively that the yelling had come from her. She had been mad at Daniel, but for no reason she could remember in the light of day. There was never a really good reason to stay mad at Daniel Meade.

Betty felt sleep take her over again and wondered if it was alright to call in sick. She had only been late three times. What was one sick day? Who could fault her for that?

As Betty reached down to the floor, rummaging about her discarded clothes for her bag and her cell phone she suddenly realized it was a Saturday. No work. The thought made her smile wide, but that only increased the pressure in her head and in turn caused her to wince momentarily in pain. How was it that alcohol made her feel so good while drinking it, but so bad the morning after?

Leaning back up, gently trying to find a new position on the bed that gave her the comfort she so desperately desired Betty's watch caught on an article of clothing from the floor. She reached for it and tried to pry it loose, realizing it was a pair of pants. A pair of pants she did not own. Examining the fabric Betty quickly understood whom it belonged to.

"Daniel?" she called.

At the sound of her voice the blankets next to her began to move and a soft moan could be heard from underneath.

"You sure do snore a lot," she heard him.

Betty knew she might have to miss a few days of work after word of this got out.


	2. Late for a Career

Betty screamed loudly and tumbled off the bed, hitting the floor with a hard thump. Daniel immediately whipped the covers off his upper half and leaned over the length of the mattress to look down at her, ensuring she was all right. Betty lay crumpled like the clothes that were strewn about her, rubbing her aching head and breathing, panting almost, fast and furiously. All Daniel could do was smile, but it didn't last long.

"What? What?! Betty are you alright?" Ignacio Suarez, Betty's over-protective father shouted as he barged into the room, holding a rolling pin over his head. If he hadn't been so worried about his daughter he probably would have recognized the ridiculousness of the situation, a man clad in a pink apron, brandishing a wooden cooking utensil intent on warding off creep crawlers or bold burglars.

As Daniel looked over to Ignacio he wondered if he could take the old man, but once Ignacio took a swing at him, Daniel quickly thought otherwise.

Daniel rolled off the bed and landed on top of Betty, only complicating things more.

"Mr. Suarez, wait please!" Daniel cried from his position cowering in Betty's lap.

"What is going on?" Hilda barked, racing into the room, her hair in curlers and her fingernails obviously wet. Justin was close behind.

"It's me! It's Daniel!"

Ignacio, Hilda, and Justin all cried in disbelief, "Daniel?!"

"I'm okay Papi," Betty said from her place under Daniel's form, using her own body weight to push him aside and using his shoulder as leverage to help her stand.

"I don't understand," Ignacio let out as he lowered the rolling pin and took a quick visual scan of the room. "What is going on here?"

They all determined it probably wasn't what it looked like. It couldn't be, right? Not with Daniel and Betty. Plus, it was obvious Daniel was still wearing clothes, some clothes.

"Where are your pants?" Justin asked as he moved closer to the commotion.

"Yes, where are they?" Ignacio repeated, slowly raising his make-shift weapon.

"Whoa, whoa. Hold on," Daniel told him, hands raised to protect his face. "My pants are here, right here. I'm going to put them on, ok?"

"Yeah, I think we got that. What I'm sure they want to know is why aren't you wearing them in the first place?" Hilda interjected.

Daniel stood, fastening his pants back up and smoothing out his now completely wrinkled dress shirt. "It's more comfortable to sleep without pants."

The words had only just left his lips when Daniel realized it was a foolish thing to say. Suddenly, Ignacio was moving toward him. "You were sleeping with my daughter?!"

"No, Dad don't," Hilda cried, trying to hold him back with the help of Justin.

Betty could only stand motionless in the corner, unsure of what was happening, still unsure of all that had happened the night before. She looked down to survey her own state of dress. She was still clothed, only not in her brown and orange dress. Instead she was wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Betty quickly, stealthily, pulled the collar of the shirt forward and looked down. Yes. She still had her bra on.

"Just sleeping, Mr. Suarez. We were just sleeping. Right Betty?" he asked, hoping Betty could help him out of such a terrible situation.

They all looked to Betty. "I don't remember. I was sort of drunk."

"Oh no. No. No. You did not get my baby sister drunk and take advantage," Hilda screamed as she brushed passed Ignacio and Justin to throttle Daniel. Thankfully she was held back.

"Ok, this seems out of hand here. I was just bringing Betty home. Yes, we were drinking. Yes, she was drunk. Yes, I was pantless, but nothing happened," Daniel said earnestly and honestly. "I swear. Just a boss putting his assistant to bed."

They all gave him a scornful look.

"I mean, placing her in bed. You know, covering her up and all. Not doing any touching of any sort."

They were still looking.

"Don't you have like a luxury loft in the city?" Justin asked. "Why stay in Queens with someone who snores when you could be there?"

Daniel chuckled. "I know right? It sounds like a Mack truck in here…" Daniel stopped as his eyes caught a glaring Betty, her arms folded over her chest, her mouth in a frown.

Daniel noticed she wasn't wearing her glasses. He had seen he without them before, but they were only brief glimpses. He had never really taken the time to look into her eyes without all the glass before them. He had to admit to himself, they were beautiful. Perhaps that was why he always melted during their talks, why he always bended to her will. It was the eyes. They opened for him. They never lied.

"I left my cell at the office. I couldn't call for another cab. It was late," Daniel began. "I mean, I've slept here before I guess I just thought it would be ok. I was drinking and I made a mistake. I'm sorry Mr. Suarez, Betty. I really am."

Ignacio sighed heavily and then smiled. "Ah Daniel. It's alright. You got my daughter home safe and sound. Now let's see about getting you kids breakfast."

Daniel let out a small squeak of relief. God, he loved that Betty's father was so understanding, so easy to give of his trust. Daniel enjoyed being trusted by him and the entire family. He enjoyed having a family, even if it wasn't his own.

"Come on, come on," Ignacio said, ushering Hilda and Justin out of the room.

"He knows we have a phone here, right? I mean there are telephones in Queens," Daniel could hear Justin say as they walked out of the room and down the stairs.

Betty still looked sad, confused.

"Are you ok? Hangover?" Daniel asked as he rummaged about the floor for his blazer and tie.

"Where's my dress?" Betty asked.

Daniel picked it up among the clothes and casually tossed it to her.

"Why aren't I wearing it?" Betty questioned, her tone quite accusatory.

Daniel stood to look at her in those open eyes and smiled. "You think I took it off you?"

"Well…."

"Well, you puked on it in the cab and by the time I got up here after you it was already on the floor."

Betty began unfolding the dress only to find a large, smelly stain on the fabric. "Ewwww!" she cried before tossing it back down.

"I would never take advantage of you Betty," Daniel told her. "I would never hurt you."

He gathered his things and began walking to her door.

He stopped. "At least, not on purpose."

Betty laughed as he left, feeling both relieved and nauseous. Drinking was never a good idea.

On Monday, back at her desk inside the Mode offices Betty found herself daydreaming about what the next issue was going to look like. Sure she had seen The Book, but it wasn't the same. The magazine itself was where the real prize lay. The gloss of the pages, the smell of the inserts, Betty wanted it all. She wanted to see her article in print.

Betty knew she shouldn't be so excited. It was only one article among a magazine full of articles and layouts and columns. She was only one person and it was only one achievement, but it was a big one.

"Daydreaming?" Daniel asked as he passed by her desk.

Betty quickly got out of her chair and followed him into his office. "No. I was thinking about … your afternoon meetings."

"Yeah, I believe that," Daniel responded, tossing his blazer over the back of his chair.

"Ok, I was thinking about my article. I just can't wait to see it in print," Betty gushed. "It almost makes me forget the sight of you in your tightie-whities."

"Hey! Boxer briefs, thank you very much," Daniel tried to correct.

"Keep telling yourself that," Betty joked.

"Listen, about the article," Daniel began. Betty instantly felt her heart sink. "We had to pull it."

She sighed heavily, sadly. "Oh. Ok. Yeah. Of course."

"It's not that it wasn't good, I mean it was great. It's just, another writer, a bigger name, stepped up with a piece we couldn't pass on and we needed the room."

"But you'll put mine in the next issue, right?" Betty asked.

Daniel averted looking into her eyes, now clad by glasses, but still expressing as much as they did days before in her bedroom. He just couldn't bear to lie to her face. "Yeah, we'll see."

"You're lying," Betty told him harshly, yet her voice was still flat, almost a whisper.

"What? No." Daniel tried to protest, but he secretly knew it was a losing battle.

"You always tilt your head to one side when you lie. You always look away."

Daniel sometimes hated that she knew him so well. She kept him too honest.

"Betty, it's just…"

"The hotel review, the Phil Roth piece, the request for more responsibility, real responsibility denied. I mean, I thought you said you would never hurt me on purpose."

"This is business Betty. Just business."

"You took me out for drinks. We celebrated."

"And we were right to do that. We were right to celebrate. You did good, great even. You are becoming a wonderful writer Betty and no one can tell you other wise. Banana daiquiris be damned!"

She couldn't help but give him a small smile in return for his efforts to make her feel better, but she couldn't, wouldn't, forget what had been done.

"No, Daniel. Being cute and sincere and all friend-like isn't going to change this. This hurts," Betty said, before walking sheepishly out of his office.

"Wait!" Daniel called after her, prompting Betty to stop at the door. "You think I'm cute?"

Betty made a growling noise and stormed off. Daniel knew he had said something wrong.

"I just don't understand why he doesn't get it," Betty moaned to Christina, sitting on one of the many plush couches in The Closet of the Mode offices. She was pulling at her own split ends and biting the skin off her bottom lip.

"Stop it already or you're gonna give yur self a bloody lip," Christina scolded her while she hemmed the bottom of yet another dress hanging precariously off one of the two dozen mannequins that littered the room. "You should know what Daniel is like. Yur smart, yur smarter than he gives you credit for."

"Well that's not true," Betty said, letting her hair fall. "He gives me credit."

"Then why hasn't he put your articles in Mode?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I feel as if I'm late; late for my career. Like it's out there and it's started without me. I really thought Daniel was going to help me get it."

"He's always leadin' you on Betty. And I don't think being led on is worth it if you ain't getting' any sex. Are you getting' any sex?"

"Christina!" Betty shouted scanning the room to make sure no one else was around. She would be mortified if the offices of Mode were flush with rumors of her and Daniel together.

"What?! I'm just pointin' it out," Christina said.

"You know, ever since you had the baby you seem to think about sex a lot more," Betty noted.

"Well you try carryin' a child for nine months and see how much action you get. Men don't usually go for the bloated, hormonal type," Christina whined honestly.

"Well ever since Henry I haven't been getting any either," Betty told her.

"What about Matt?" Christina asked. "I thought you two were, ya know?" She then made a crude hand gesture Betty couldn't help but turn away from.

"No. No, we were going to, but I think it's too soon. I think we should wait."

"You have more resolve than me. I slept with Stuart for Christ's sake. That lyin', cheatin', no good son of a…"

"I get it Christina," Betty told her. "I get it."

"I'm just sayin' when a man disappoints you as many times as he disappointed me; when a man lies and carries on and is eager to take off his pants, but won't share his heart then somethin' is up. Well, two somethings are up."

"Ew."

"Just be careful is all I'm sayin'. Stuart was my husband and he cheated me. Daniel's just you're boss. He's let you down before Betty. You shouldn't be surprised."

"How did you know about him taking off his pants?" Betty asked, almost half jokingly, and completely under her breath. Yet in the silence of The Closet Christina heard her loud and clear and in an instant was at her side.

"Daniel took of his pants!" she shouted.

"Shhhhhh," Betty prompted, putting her hand up to Christina's mouth.

"Oh come on Betty, I need to hear all the dirt."

After spending her entire lunch break explaining her Saturday morning antics with Daniel and her family to Christina, Betty reluctantly returned to her desk. She wasn't sure she wanted to sit there and stare through the glass partition at Daniel. But she had no choice. He was there in front of her, always ahead, with her always having nowhere to go.

Just as Betty began to feel sorry for herself again, something she had promised herself not to do, the phone on her desk rang. It startled her, but somehow the jolt was needed.

"Daniel Meade's office," she said calmly, cheerfully, into the phone.

"Is this Betty Suarez?" the voice on the other end asked.

"Yes it is," Betty responded and then listened to what the stranger had to say.

From inside his office Daniel could see the look on Betty's face change from one of confusion to one of joy. She was smiling, laughing almost. She was happy. Daniel wondered who was on the other line. Could it be that new guy she was dating? Daniel wasn't sure he liked the thought of Betty going out with a white collar, blue-blood. He wasn't sure he liked the thought of Betty dating anyone remotely like himself. He knew all too well what guys like him did to girls like Betty.

Betty set the phone down and bounded for Daniel's office. He quickly tried to look busy, tried not appear like he was spying. As if Betty didn't already know.

"Daniel," she said launching right in without greeting him first. Perhaps she had forgotten about their little talk. Perhaps she had forgotten about the article. "Are you going to publish my article?"

Maybe not.

"Betty I told you that I wasn't sure what we were going to do. I mean…"

"It's just that, if you're not going to use it, I'd like it back."

"Yeah, I guess. Why?"

"Matt's going to get it published for me," Betty told him. Daniel could almost hear a hint of smugness in her voice, something that was unlike her, but certainly warranted in such a situation.

"Doesn't he write for a sports magazine? I doubt nacho-eating, fantasy football loving, forty year olds who live in their mom's basements want to know where the hot new vintage store is."

"It's not for his magazine. A friend of his is looking for something new and he told him about me. He sent him my rough and the guy said if the real thing is as good he'll print it."

"Well, Betty, people say lots of things when they're trying to get into your pan…." Daniel stopped himself when he saw the look on her face. "How can you trust Matt?"

"I just spoke to the editor of the magazine. He needs to know that you're not going to use the piece. So I wanted to make sure before I submit to him."

Daniel was unsure of what to do. Should he give the article back and risk hurting Betty by letting her know he probably was not going to fight for its placement in Mode? Or should he hold on to it to show her he had faith in her, but then jeopardize her chances with another magazine? And should Betty really be writing for another magazine anyway?

"What magazine is it?" he asked.

"Vogue."

There was a silence in the room, a thick, awkward heavy silence that hung around them, nearly suffocating all thought. Vogue, Daniel thought, was out of the question. Betty just couldn't write for the competition. She couldn't give her talent away.

"I'm sorry Betty, but you wrote the article for Mode so it stays at Mode until we decide to run it."

"But…"

"That's the end of it," he told her.

Betty was speechless. She hadn't thought he would really say "no". Was he jealous? Could it be that Daniel Meade was jealous of his own assistant?

Betty scoffed and walked back to her office. She placed her head in her hands and tried to rub away all the tension and frustration. What was Daniel thinking, she wondered. What was he doing to her? And why was he doing it?

Suddenly, Daniel watched her head shoot up, as if she had had an epiphany of some kind. Without a word, without permission, Betty grabbed her bag and her coat and left her desk headed for the elevators. Daniel stood up in shock and watched her go.

"Oh no," he said aloud to himself. "Did she just quit?"


	3. Late for Breakfast

"I think Betty quit," Daniel said, his voice high and sharp, his body held tight, his heart obviously sinking.

Claire Meade could not help but reach out for her now only son and wrap him in a hug. A hug he quickly pulled out of.

"No mom. I need to think of a solution."

"A solution to her quitting?" Claire questioned sitting back down at her desk. She was looking over proofs from one of Mode's latest fashion spreads.

"Yeah. I need to figure out a way to get her back."

"Well, first figure out what you did wrong and then fix it. Apologizing helps. Jewelry is a nice touch," Claire noted giving him a sly wink.

Daniel only rolled his eyes at her. "I'm being serious here. And what makes you think I did something wrong."

Claire did not respond and Daniel chose to ignore it. He wasn't in the mood to hear her tell him what a terrible job he was doing at being a good boss, at being a good friend.

"Never mind," he said defeated. "I can handle this on my own."

"Daniel, I'll help. Really I will. Tell me what you need me to do."

"I guess we need to figure out if she quit or not," he said pacing the space near her desk. God, he acted like Betty sometimes. Sometimes he just couldn't calm those nerves down.

"Wait," Claire said, stopping him by grabbing at her son's arm. "You don't even know if she quit."

"I said 'I think'."

"I think you're being ridiculous. Betty would never quit without telling you she'd quit," she assured him.

"She would if I refused to print her article," Daniel told her while flopping into the chair his mother had just risen from.

"What?"

Daniel rubbed his temples hard trying to erase the terrible feeling from his head. "This great writer, that guy who wrote that thing for that other magazine, well he's giving Mode first pick to publish his new piece. It's a big deal, so Betty's article had to go," Daniel said, his voice low, sad, sullen.

"Oh well, yes of course. Anything for that guy who wrote that thing," Claire mocked. "Daniel, Betty is your friend. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking of what was best for Mode. It is what I do," he sounded angry this time, he was trying in vain to defend himself.

"Then ask yourself this: why did you bump Betty's article? Was it bad? Or was it because Betty wrote it?"

"It was good mom, really, really good," he told her honestly.

"So maybe, just maybe, you got rid of it for reasons other than business."

She pulled on Daniel's shirt forcing him to get up out of her chair and then sat back down herself to continue her work.

"That's it? That's all the help you're going to give?"

"Sweetheart you don't need my help. You need to realize you're fearful of losing Betty to bigger and better things. You need to adjust all on your own."

"Adjust?"

"You said so yourself, she's a good writer. Somewhere along the line you had to think that she was going to move on. You had to know that you couldn't keep a girl like Betty all to yourself forever."

As Daniel sat in the back of his town car at the end of a long day's work, he let his mother's words sink in and take hold of his brain. Had he sabotaged Betty's chances for success outside of his office? Had he really not published her article because he feared it would lead to other things, better things than he had to offer? Daniel slid down further on the seat, propping his legs on the partition before him and letting his head dig into the fabric. He was trying to relax, under the misguided assumption that if he could get some sleep he could stop thinking about Betty. Or at the very least he could come up with a solution.

Yet, every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the sad, disappointed look on Betty's face. It was a look he had been trying to preempt for the better part of three years. It was a look that crushed his soul.

"Driver," he called out as he lowered the partition using the button placed conveniently on his upholstered armrest. "Take me to…" Daniel thought for a moment. "Downtown, take me downtown."

Daniel suddenly felt more at ease. If Betty could run off in the middle of a work day and not return, if she could change the very nature of what Daniel had come to expect from her, then he could go out and party. He could revert back to the Daniel Meade he was before he ever knew Betty. The Daniel Meade that had no worries, no cares, no responsibilities. The Daniel Meade who had fun.

That Daniel Meade found himself at a corner VIP booth, inside a happening New York City club, surrounded by beautiful women whose names he didn't know or care to know. All Daniel was interested in were their measurements. And maybe their penchant for sex, which at the moment appeared very, very high.

With his tongue down one woman's throat and his hands foundling another Daniel believed he was free of the curse. Free of Betty Suarez. Still, just thinking he was free of her proved he wasn't. Thinking about Betty proved he couldn't leave her behind.

In a haze, consumed by alcohol and guilt, Daniel bolted from his seat and out of the bar. Women called after him, hoping for a piece of his body and another drink on his gold card.

"So did you quit?" Hilda asked, while brushing her sister's hair for what seemed like the hundredth time. They were on the enclosed porch that served as Hilda's salon, Betty snuggly tucked into the beautician's chair, Hilda tugging on her hair.

"No. I didn't quit, I just…"

"Stormed off without saying a word?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I've quit a lot of jobs and that sounds like quitting to me. Although I usually throw in a dirty Spanish word or some hand gestures, but you get the idea."

"I just wanted to talk to Matt, so I went to his office but he wasn't there. I called and couldn't get a hold of him," Betty sighed. "And then I felt stupid for leaving work and didn't go back."

"What did you do all day?"

"Wandered. Hey, did you know that four blocks from my office is a movie theatre that provides its own tissues? You know for like _The Notebook_ I guess. It says it right on the sign."

Hilda jerked tightly on Betty's hair pulling her head all the way back so they were looking at one another eye-to eye. She raised her eyebrows and gave Betty a knowing look.

"Oh," Betty said, suddenly realizing what the sign meant. "I just got that. Gross."

Hilda laughed. "Well, now we know why Daniel was so eager to take the job."

"Hilda, that's not funny. Daniel has changed. He isn't like that anymore."

"Yeah, yeah," Hilda mockingly agreed finishing Betty's hair and pushing her out of the chair before sitting down herself. "Daniel has changed alright. But is it the good kind of change?"

Before Betty could respond and as if on cue a knock on the back door could be heard. Betty shrugged her shoulders and then tentatively went to the door, pulling back the curtain before opening it up.

"Daniel?" she said, surprised to see him.

"Oh yeah, he's changed," Hilda said sarcastically as she passed by them both and headed upstairs.

"Daniel what happened?" Betty asked, pulling out a kitchen chair for him to sit in. Daniel graciously took the seat.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he assured her. "I've had a few drinks and I kissed a few girls, but the worst part is I left my cell phone at the office and couldn't get my car back. I had to take the subway here."

"The subway?" she questioned incredulously. "Daniel Meade on the subway."

"Hey, I'm getting better at this whole public transportation thing."

"Well, why didn't you get catch a cab back to your loft?"

Betty fiddled with the taps and got Daniel a glass of water before sitting down across from him.

"I wanted to see you," he said honestly. "You just left and I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Betty could tell he was being sincere. She could see it in his eyes, he was looking right at her, unafraid.

"I'm sorry I left Daniel. I was just so upset."

"I know. I'm sorry too," he told her.

"The thing is, that's not going to cut it this time. This time I need more than an apology," Betty said, her eyes open and honest as well.

Daniel was sure he knew what she was referring to, but he was also sure he couldn't give it to her. He was becoming paranoid. He hated being paranoid.

"I just want my article back," she told him.

"So you're quitting?"

"Quitting?" Betty scoffed. "No. No of course not Daniel. I'm not quitting."

Instantly there was a marked difference in Daniel's body language. He relaxed a little, released the tension in his shoulders and face, and actually cracked a smile.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want my piece back," she said once more. "I can be your assistant and still be a writer."

"That's the thing Betty. You can't. Not unless you're doing it for Mode."

He stood up and placed the glass of water on the counter, leaning against the tile, his head held low.

"I know it makes me selfish to say that, but your place is with me."

"My place?" Betty asked as she stood beside him. "My place?" Daniel didn't look at her so she tugged on his sleeve and pulled his face to meet her own. "Daniel look at me. You have no right to tell me my place."

As the words left her lips Daniel wretched his face ways from her and backed up as far as he could. She was right. Of course she was right. He was being foolish and selfish and stupid. It was the alcohol, it had to be. All he had to do was tell her it was the alcohol. All he had to do was give back the article and beg her to stay.

Daniel looked up, prepared to meet her eyes and her demands. He looked up prepared to grovel for the gift that is Betty Suarez.

Daniel looked up and Betty was gone. In the distance he could hear her bedroom door slam. He knew that would wake Betty's father and Daniel wasn't prepared for a second round with the rolling pin.

When Betty awoke the following morning her eyes were still sore and red from the previous night's bouts of anger and tears. She hadn't shed that many, but it had been a long time since she'd cried. It had been a long time since Henry had left for good, so her eyes were somehow trying to repel the tears. They were trying to spare her all that grief.

"Are you going in today?" a voice startled Betty out of her last few moments of sleepiness.

Ignacio was sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Papi. Hi. You watching me sleep?" she asked, sitting up and beginning to remove the brace attachment she wore on her face most nights.

"No," he told her gently. "I just got here. But I must say, you look like you mother when you sleep."

Betty instantly warmed to the comment, forgetting her sore eyes and soaking up the tenderness such a comment, a comparison to her mother, gave her.

"And you both drool just a little bit," he added.

Betty swatted him away so she could get off the bed, but he stopped her.

"I just wanted to know that you were going to be ok."

"Dad, don't worry. I'm going to work, my head held high. And I'll just write another article for Vogue or Elle or whoever wants it. I'm going to be ok."

"Good," he responded, patting her lightly on the head and kissing her plump cheek. "Pancakes?"

"Of course."

Betty kept her smile until Ignacio had left the room and closed the door. She then let her face fall and got back to the task of getting ready for yet another day at her job. Another day with Daniel Meade.

With thoughts clouding her usual perky and punctual morning routine Betty found herself late for breakfast, with Ignacio standing at the bottom of the stairs shouting for her.

"I'm sorry Papi, no pancakes for me," she yelped as she grabbed her bag and headed for the front door.

"But you said…"

"I know, I know, but I can't be late my first day after a fight with Daniel. It'll look like I planned it."

She quickly kissed him on the forehead and gave him a slight hug before rushing off into the morning light. Ignacio turned to Justin with the extra plate of pancakes.

"Don't look at me. Three is enough if I plan to get into the costumes for the school play this year."

When Betty entered Mode the offices were quiet. Apparently she wasn't as late as she thought she'd be. Apparently she wasn't late at all. In fact she was one of the first to arrive. Running to the bus, then the subway, then down the block certainly had its advantages.

Being so early Betty was startled to find Daniel already in his office, with his own coffee and bagel, going over the latest issue of Mode. It had just been printed that morning and was to be sent for shipment that afternoon.

Nervously Betty walked into his office and cleared her throat loudly so Daniel would know she was there. Of course he knew she was there.

"Good morning Daniel," she said.

"Good morning Betty," he returned. "I have your copy of Mode here."

"Oh no. I like to buy it. You know, help out," she joked.

"Well, I think you'll want to see this one," Daniel said, standing up and passing her the copy.

Betty was unsure why he wanted her to see it, but she obliged, taking the copy and thumbing through it ideally. As the pages flipped by she gave Daniel a fake smile as if she understood.

Seemingly a little frustrated Daniel put his hand in between the pages and then turned back a few to reveal Betty's article.

"Oh my God," Betty said completely overtaken by surprise. "Oh my God. Daniel. Oh Daniel it's my article."

"I know."

"But how? Why? When?"

"Calm down Betty. I went last night after we spoke and put your article back in. It took some rearranging but I got the famous writer's piece and a really great review by an up and comer to both fit."

Betty looked at him, her eyes glistening, her smile genuine, infectious, real. "Oh Daniel. Thank you."

"Your welcome."

"But why did you do it?"

"I felt bad," he said.

Before Daniel was able to explain himself further Betty handed him back the magazine and began to walk out. Daniel caught her arm.

"Wait!"

"You feeling bad isn't good enough Daniel. It can't always be about you."

"And it's not. I felt bad. I felt bad that people, Mode people, weren't going to get to read your work. I felt bad because I was depriving them of the opportunity to know what a great talent you are."

"Really?"

"Really. And it assuages my guilt."

Betty rolled her eyes.

"What? I'm being honest."

"Well, thank you, either way," she said trying once again to leave.

"That's it? No hug?"

Betty chuckled. "You want a hug?"

"I've becoming accustomed to a certain level of affection around here."

"I am pretty giving with the hugs. Maybe too giving?"

"What's one more, huh?" he teased.

Betty reached up and slid her arms around his neck, pulling him, holding him in a tight, warm hug. Daniel retuned, placing his arms around her waist. His face landing in her soft, mess of hair, taking in the scent of lilacs and syrup.

"I believe in you Betty. I really do. I was worried you would leave. I was wrong to sabotage your success for my gain."

"I forgive you," she said, nearly speaking into his two thousand dollar suit.

"You forgive too easy," he told her as they broke away from one another, still standing with their arms and hands attached. "You always forgive me."

"Well, I'll try to be more unforgiving in the future," she joked.

Suddenly they were looking into one another's eyes, a circumstance they found themselves in often. Yet, in that moment, that minute, it all felt extremely different. Could it be because Daniel was realizing Betty would move on, that it was inevitably? Or perhaps it was the sense of self Betty was displaying over the last few days? Had missing breakfast made her infinitely more aware of the depth of Daniel's blue eyes and the warmth in the creases by his lips? Had feeling guilty opened his heart to what Betty could be?

No.

It just couldn't be.

It was a bad idea.

Betty tried to pull herself back, but for some reason her limbs would not move. Daniel felt as if he were permanently glued to the spot. They were both immobile, trapped in time. Everything felt silent, still, surreal.

"Daniel, I have the proofs for the…." Claire Meade said as she walked into the office holding a file in her hand. She stopped short at the threshold as she saw Betty and her son in a precarious, perhaps even awkward, embrace. "Ah, ummmm."

"Mrs. Meade!" Betty squealed as she whirled around to look at Claire. "I was, I was, I was….just leaving," and with that Betty was out the door, passed her desk, and gone from sight.

"Nice mom," Daniel said sharply.

"Well, excuse me Daniel, but I thought you were done sleeping with the staff," she retorted.

"It's not like that. Just an innocent…"

"Moment?"

Daniel gave his mother a questioning look. He didn't like the tone in her voice, as if she knew something he didn't.

"I saw the magazine. I saw Betty's article."

"And?" Daniel asked seating himself back at his desk, trying to soak up some authority.

"And are you sure there was nothing going on just now?"

Daniel didn't answer.

"So are you sure you're done sleeping with the staff?"


End file.
